


Gas, Food, Lodging

by cjmarlowe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-16
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/pseuds/cjmarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knows he always has somewhere to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gas, Food, Lodging

The bar closed at two but there was still a light on at three when Dean pulled up, his stomach the only thing emptier than his gas tank. Dean hadn't kept close track of Jo Harvelle, but this was the last place he saw her and he was hoping she stayed on here after everything that went down because boy he could use a friendly face right now.

Or at least a semi-friendly face, which some days was all he could hope for.

He tapped on the window when he found the door already locked, and he was ignored the first two times but there was definitely someone inside, and on the third try someone finally came into view looking impatient and a little disgruntled on top of that. He thought it might have been Jo, but he wasn't sure until the door opened a crack.

"Give me one good reason I should open this door."

"Jo Harvelle?" he said, but the door didn't open any wider, and he was pretty sure that was a shotgun barrel pointed at him. Well, good for her. "Jo, it's Dean."

"Oh yeah?"

"Winchester," he added, like it needed to be said. "Look, I'm completely tapped. I rolled in here on fumes. I just need a place to crash till tomorrow." The shotgun didn't move, and he was starting to think that going hungry and sleeping in the car again were more viable options. "Seriously, what do I have to do to make you believe me?"

"I believe you just fine," she said, "I’m just not sure I want to let you in."

"I'll owe you one," he said, and he hoped that meant something. He didn't say that to just anyone. At least, not just anyone who could actually call it in. "Just the night. I can pick up some cash tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'll just bet you can," she said, then the shotgun was gone and the door was opening and he could finally see her face. "You're lucky I was closing up tonight. You'd've been shit out of luck otherwise."

"Yeah, well I guess I got lucky then," he said as she locked up again behind him. "I almost forgot you were out this way till I was looking for a place to pull over and crash."

"Lucky me," she said, and turned her back on him to finish putting the chairs up so she could do the floor. "You really that hard up?"

"Yeah," admitted Dean, hands in his pockets and a little defeated in spite of himself. "Ran into a string of bad luck. You haven't got any peanuts back there or something, do you?"

"I'll feed you," she said, "as soon as I finish up with this floor. Where's your brother?"

"He's around," Dean said vaguely. "He's doing some research. Didn't need me hovering over his shoulder while he did his thing." Or Dean didn't want to be cooped up like that when there were better things he could be doing. Like taking on a hunt. She obviously didn't believe him, but that was all Dean wanted to say about it. "So is there anything I can do to help this process along?"

"You can push a broom," she said, nodding at the wide broom leaning against the bar. "Give me a chance to take the trash out back. Might as well make yourself useful."

Dean wasn't too proud to take care of a little cleaning; God knew he'd done way dirtier jobs for way worse reasons, and it didn't take a whole long time to sweep the floor of a little bar. Nor to mop it, which was what Jo had him doing next.

"Guess you're not completely useless," she said when he finished up. "You'd think you knew the ins and outs of saloons or something."

"Guess you can't visit that many without picking up a few things," he said, stowing everything away for her too. Couldn't hurt to get in her good graces when he knew he was imposing. Anyone else he'd be trying to charm the pants off right now, but with Jo there was too much history there.

Not that it stopped him from flashing her a charming grin.

"You're tired, you're broke, and you kind of smell like bile," said Jo, grabbing her coat off a hook behind the bar. "Not even the infamous Dean Winchester is going to get into anyone's pants like that. Rough job?"

"I've had worse," said Dean, sniffing himself. He didn't smell anything. "Lost my last credit card, used my cash for gas to keep going. That's all."

"I'll give you a shower and a hot meal," she said, and took him home with her, a tiny apartment above a pharmacy that reminded Dean of a dozen places he'd grown up in, almost bare but with tiny personal touches. As homey as she could make it and still be able to pack it all up in under an hour.

Dean used all her hot water, and when he came out again she had spaghetti waiting for him.

"It's from a can," she said, "but it's hot."

Dean couldn't care less where it came from, he wolfed it down without even taking the time to breathe, then rinsed the bowl out because he wasn't always a complete heathen and joined her on the couch in front of her tiny television, volume low and turned to an old black and white movie that he hadn't seen.

"Thanks," he mumbled and she just kind of grunted in return. "Really."

"You knew I would," she said, staring at the television instead of at him. "You knew I'd always do that for you. You're just lucky you knew where to find me."

_Oh._ And hey, he didn't smell like bile anymore, and she was warm and soft and he let his hand fall on her knee.

"Dean," she said, but as he did her legs fell open a little.

"Tell me if this is a terrible idea."

"You've had worse," she said, and didn't push him away when his hand slid higher up her thigh. In fact, she slouched towards him when he moved up to undo the button on her jeans. Her eyes were still on the screen when he slowly slid the zipper down, though he could see the corner of her mouth turning up a little.

A challenge, then. Jo Harvelle had no idea what she was in for.

Her panties were cotton, little pink flowers on them that were so incongruous with everything else she was wearing but were somehow still _her_ all the same. He slid his hand in overtop of them, warm and a little damp and she noticeably pushed back against his hand. He didn't slide inside yet, though, rubbing his fingers over the fabric, teasing.

She scratched at her knee restlessly and Dean smiled to himself, knew his way around this territory just by touch and pressed against her clit through her panties, just enough to make a little sound escape from her. Only then did he back up and slide his hand back in beneath her panties this time.

There was hardly enough room to move, but he knew how to do this, knew where to press and slide his fingers, knew just how much he had to move his wrist to get the right angle. He'd worked with much tighter pants than this, and it much more public places. As her breathing grew more and more ragged he dipped his fingers inside her, wet and slick, then moved them in circles against her clit, as hard as she would let him, slow and steady.

Finally she moaned and pushed her jeans down her hips and he was able to get two fingers inside her, working her clit with his thumb as she ground back against him. Her breath caught when she came and he could feel her thighs tighten and tremble around him. He looked up and she was biting her lip, her eyes closed and her cheeks flushed, and he wasn't sure which one of them won.

Probably both.

He pulled his hand out, and was gentlemanly enough to wipe it on his own pants.

"Bedroom?" he said. "Or do you want to see the end of your movie?"

"I don't even know what we're watching," she said, and led the way.

In the morning - late morning, he figured, or maybe afternoon - Dean found twenty dollars beside the bed with "FOR GAS" written on it in sharpie, and Jo was nowhere to be found. He stuffed the money in his pocket and knew he'd be able to rustle up some more just as soon as he hit civilization again. He thought about leaving a note, but that wouldn't be them, so he just took advantage of her shower one last time and repacked his duffel and hit the open road.


End file.
